Destructive Criticism Sometimes unexpected visitors are fun.  Maybe they’re delivering a package.  Perhaps your neighbor has baked too many cookies.  Even Jehovah’s witnesses can be pretty cool.  Unfortunately, in my case, the person on the other side of the door was none of the above, but rather a friend that decided to stop by.  To be fair, this friend, (we’ll call him “J”) called several minutes prior to knocking on my door.  I, however, did not answer that call.  Apparently, this was all the incentive J needed.  I heard the rap on my door, and for a fleeting moment entertained the hopeful idea that it might be a UPS man bringing me a present.  But no, it was J.  And he did have a present.  He came bearing the gift of truth.  J spent an over an hour hanging out on my couch, talking, and behaving in a manner that can best be described as friendly.  In retrospect, I was a fool to buy it.  But so many signs pointed to him being a friend!  For instance, I’m almost certain he wouldn’t let me drive drunk.  And I like to think that in the event that I sang out of tune, J would not stand up and walk out on me.  Perhaps I was wrong. As J lulled me into a false sense of security, he lulled himself to sleep on my couch.  Being that he was a friend, I figured I should let him sleep, and read quietly until he woke up.  But as I reached for my book, J stirred, and spoke as though waking from a trance.  He half-opened his eyes and said, “Your last column wasn’t good.”  I thought I must have misunderstood him.  But he then proceeded to explain how I failed to bring the funny with my Mousetrap story.  As you can imagine, this was devastating to me - the truth hurts.  I suppose I could have dismissed this criticism and said simply, “Well, that’s one opinion,” but in my heart I know that no opinion matters more.  I aspire to someday match the level of sophisticated humor that J achieves effortlessly by using the phrase “your mom” as an all-purpose joke.  Less funny people might find it rather lame and tiresome, but J knows better.  The frequency with which he says it makes it all the funnier, let me tell you.  In fact, J’s sense of humor is so highly refined that he is able to detect jokes that, to the casual observer, aren’t even there.  For instance, when I suggested that he “get the hell out of my apartment,” he chuckled and I realized that I must have been kidding.  How foolish of me! I can’t be angry with J when he’s so goddamn funny!  Thanks to my friend J, Dasher of Hopes and Crusher of Spirits, I took a serious look at my work, and realized that fame had blinded me to my own inadequacies and deluded me into thinking I was a half-decent writer.  So from henceforth on, Jeanarchy is no more.  I care about my readers, but understand now that you read Jeanarchy only out of pity.  You deserve a higher quality, cutting-edge column, and that is why I am leaving the site to J.  I assure that you will not be disappointed by J’s original comic stylings, so long as you enjoy silly ways to give someone the finger and are no more than 13 years old.